ich had so often
called him from her to ride the grim trails of his profession. But this
time he had not come back. She would go to him, and never leave him
again.

Anita thought she knew of a woman who would take charge of the hotel
during Mrs. Adams's absence. Without waiting for an assurance of this,
Bud purchased tickets, sent a letter to his clerk, and spent half an
hour in the barber shop.

"Somebody dead?" queried the barber as Bud settled himself in the chair.

"Not that I heard of. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Shoop. I seen that you was dressed in black and had on
a black tie--"

Later, as Bud surveyed himself in the glass, trying ineffectually to
dodge the barber's persistent whisk-broom, he decided that he did look a
bit funereal. And when he appeared at the supper table that evening he
wore an ambitious four-in-hand tie of red and yellow. There was going to
be no funeral or anything that looked like it, if he knew it.

Aboard the midnight train he made Mrs. Adams comfortable in the chair
car. It was but a few hours' run to The Junction. He went to the smoker,
took off his coat, and lit a cigar. Around him men sprawled in all sorts
of awkward attitudes, sleeping or trying to sleep. He had heard nothing
further about Waring's fight with the Brewsters. They might still be at
large. But he doubted it. If they were--Shoop recalled the friendly
shooting contest with High-Chin Bob. If High Chin were riding the
country, doubtless he would be headed south. But if he should happen to
cross Shoop's trail by accident--Bud shook his head. He would not look
for trouble, but if it came his way it would bump into something solid.

Shoop had buckled on his gun before leaving Jason. His position as
supervisor made him automatically a deputy sheriff. But had he been
nothing more than a citizen homesteader, his aim would have been quite
as sincere.

It was nearly daylight when they arrived at The Junction. Shoop
accompanied Mrs. Adams to a hotel. After breakfast he went out to get a
buck-board and team. Criswell was not on the line of the railroad.

They arrived in Criswell that evening, and were directed to the
marshal's house, where Ramon met them.

"How's Jim?" was Shoop's immediate query.

"The Senor Jim is like one who sleeps," said Ramon.

Mrs. Adams grasped Shoop's arm.

"He wakens only when the doctor is come. He has spoken your name,
senora."

The marshal's wife, a thin, worried-looking woman, apologized